File This Under Things I Didn't Need To Know

I've joked in the past that I need to just live in a bubble. I would love to have my little bubble world where every day is 77 and sunny with a light breeze. No smog, no rain or snow, no hot or cold, just ahhhhh...

Of course, that isn't the only purpose my bubble would serve. After watching Restaurant: Impossible a couple weeks ago, I will never, ever eat in a restaurant in New Castle Delaware given what the health inspectors apparently let pass there. Trust me when I tell you that you don't need to go look up that episode.

Then there's my real freak out factor. I detest little creepy crawly things. I live in fear that the wee ones will catch lice that is inevitably going around their schools. The thought gives me the heeby jeebies. But bed bugs? Oh, I can hardly stand to even type the word.

I now check every hotel I stay at for evidence of the critters. I've been lucky that I haven't had any issues to date, but I know the day will eventually come when I'll have to call a hotel's front desk and insist on a room change. They are everywhere, definitely not just internationally or big cities.

The thing that really freaked me out though?

I was listening to news radio on my way to the gym last week as they began discussing how bedbugs have invaded a new space. Apparently travelers are becoming more health conscious. And they're working out while on the road, which is awesome. The part that's not so awesome? Those bedbugs in the hotels are climbing into their gym bags.

Bedbugs are now running rampant in gym locker rooms. Where they can survive for up to a year waiting for a new host. Are you kidding me? The gym is my sanctuary. I can't have bedbugs there. Can. Not.

The only good thing is that I know there aren't many people who use the locker I do (its combination is most often the same one I left it at my previous workout, yay!). But seriously, now I have to worry about bedbugs there, too? My skin is crawling as I type this.

I'm off now to go google search bubbles. I'm going to need to move into one soon. Really, really soon.

I am also giving away a Progresso Souper You Debut gift pack here.

Oh, and while you're at it, I finally set up a Facebook Fan page for my blog (and corrected the link here - oops!). It's way overdue. Go like me on Facebook if you would so I can get an official username - once I get enough likes. You can also follow me on Twitter, too, if you're so inclined.

No Need To Feel Guilty About Gifts Anymore

I know Christmas is over. I know it's time to start focusing on Valentine's Day. I know, I know, I know. I have to post this anyway because it still makes me giggle every time I think about it, a month to the day later.

Let me preface this by saying that I never expect gifts from anyone. The wee ones have more than they could possibly ever want, and while we appreciate each and every person who thinks so highly of my children as to bless them with a special gift, that doesn't mean I can't giggle sometimes, too.

On Christmas Day, we were at an aunt and uncle's house (not the ones featured in this story, just to be clear). It was gift-a-palooza for the wee ones as various family members showered presents upon them. It was all I could do to keep up with what they were opening and try to figure out what each child was looking at before the next thing appeared.

After a bit, Mister Man appeared at my side with a Gladware container of Legos, his favorite. It was a Harry Potter little Lego set, and he was thrilled. I was examining the set as he demonstrated it, thinking it was neat for someone to share their toy with him.

Soon enough, Mister Man was lured away by yet another present, and I went back to the wee ones opening their presents. An aunt (not the one hosting) sidled up to me.

I hope you don't mind, she smiled at me. I found that Lego set on a shelf in the basement, and I thought Mister Man would love it. I know how into Legos he is.

I smiled vaguely at her, nodding. Yep, he loves his Legos. That was so sweet of you to share that with him. I made a mental note to make sure he returned it to her before we left.

Jared (not his real name, but her grandsom who is in middle school and who visits periodically when he comes to stay with his dad) left it at our house one time awhile ago, and I figured he didn't play with it anymore, so it was perfect to pass along to Mister Man.

Oh, it's for him to keep? That's so sweet of you. He'll love playing with it over and over again, I smiled again before returning my attention to the wee ones.

I'm so glad you don't mind that we wrapped it up for him. It just seemed like such a perfect fit.

Screeeeech.

Wait.

That was his Christmas present from you? You wrapped up a Gladware piece of a hand me down toy from a child who left the toy at your house and doesn't know that you've now given it away? And that's what you choose to give to someone for Christmas?

First, I don't expect a Christmas present from anyone, let alone from them. The wee ones have plenty, and we're just happy to see people and spend time with them. Second, regifting is ... interesting, but now you're openly, blatantly just passing this off as a gift? Really, just hand him the box unwrapped and tell him you thought he'd enjoy this. It isn't a Christmas present, and I'm ok with that.

Wrapping it up and pretending like it was a present (and no, they aren't in the least hurting for money - this isn't about that for them at all)? That is just plain weird. And makes me giggle.

I really am a bad person, aren't I?

Can I get you to tweet once a day for me so I can win a Super Bowl Party with Flatout Wraps pretty please? Just tweet this daily: I think @honestandtruly would make a fabulous @FlatoutBread Super Bowl party host! http://bit.ly/f9w6wN #FlatoutSB (And thanks!)

Look What I Found!

Psssst. Don't forget:
A week of summer day camp for ages 5-12 here
A fun Shrek-tacular prize pack here
A $25 Wal-Mart gift card here.

***

Summer arrived in Chicago on Sunday. And by arrived (for those of you who aren't familiar with our area), I mean that it went from 50s to 90s with 99 percent humidity in a matter of 48 hours. Or maybe less. My memory is a little hazy after being fried.

So with it beign that hot and us not used to the heat yet, what did I decide to do on my afternoon of quiet while the wee ones were napping?

I decided that I couldn't stand the garage being so disorganized anymore. I couldn't stand the mess, and no one but me was going to do anything about it. I'm debating making the garage and a potential inside parking spot for my husband his anniversary present (umm help - it's Monday and I haven't started shopping).

Apparently I'm on a bit of an organizing kick right now. Someday soon, we might even have a post showing an organized office. I've had that one planned for about two years now. I'm still working on it. Ahem.

Anyway.

The garage has not been thoroughly cleaned by me since we moved in almost four years ago. While my husband has swept it and done the basic maintenance like that, with only one car being parked in the garage and well, it being a garage, things get placed there and stuff accumulates.

Needless to say, I spent five plus hours cleaning and organizing the garage. It was hot work, and maybe not the best day to do it, but I'm proud of what I accomplished. And like any major task, it came with a few surprises.

Some of my favorites?

• The 2007 Christmas picture Back in 2007, my husband apparently took the wee ones to a mall without me to get their picture taken with Santa. It was the first year that Little Miss sorta knew who Santa was, and it was an experience I wanted to share with them. Soooo my husband apparently hid the photo inside a Gymboree bag and placed it under the wheel of his bicycle where I found it two and a half years later (see, I told you I hadn't organized it in awhile).
• A gigantic plastic bag filled with pinecones The wee ones - especially Mister Man - are big collectors. They like to find rocks and acorns and sticks and leaves and well pinecones. While I allow them to collect these things, the mean mommy in me also makes them redistribute them at the end of our play session. My mom indulges them a little more, and I found a gigantic bag filled with pinecones tucked away under the workbench. If only we had a wood burning fireplace, I'd be set for starters for years.
• A tent Neither my husband nor I camp. Interestingly, we never have, and I'm not sure how we came into the possession of a tent - which I originally thought was a folding camp chair until I opened the bag. More interestingly, we appear to have all the poles but none of the canvas. It's possible that this will end up in the garbage next week. Right now, it's overflowing.
• Balls, balls, and more balls While both my husband and I play softball/baseball, the wee ones are not hugely athletically inclined as yet. They're playing t-ball currently, but football, basketball, and soccer are beyond them right now. We've yet to buy any of this kind of sporting equipment. Yet I now have three large bins filled with four basketballs, two footballs, six soccer balls, and a tennis ball. I have no idea how they got in our garage.
• A box full of light switches, electrical outlets, and a smoke detector I'll take the blame on this one - or at least most of it. Four year ago, before we moved in, I changed out all the icky dirty gross light switches and electrical outlets. I put in dimmers and all sorts of cool things. And I saved the old ones because I thought I was going to... I forget what. The smoke detector is all my husband though. Needless to say, they are now properly disposed of.
• A broken wooden bat and metal cleats with holes in the sides Those are both my husband's. His baseball league does a few wooden bat games each year, and apparently he broke one of his (obnoxiously expensive) wooden bats. He kept it thinking that one day he'd tape it up for a fungo bat. And the cleats? Ummm the holes in the sides where he'd worn through them were the reason I gave him new cleats two years ago for his birthday. I also found the plastic color changing inserts for his new cleats in a different location. All are now in the garbage.
  A variety of children's artwork The wee ones apparently somehow emptied their backpacks from time to time without me seeing (or maybe on days when I was working?) and stashed artwork throughout the garage. Very bizarre.
• Two baseball gear bags Oh. Yeah. I remember buying those at the church rummage sale for the wee ones for this year when they started playing t-ball. I got them for $0.50 total, and they are perfect to hold their gloves and cleats and bats. Oh. Except that I forgot about them until I discovered the bag Sunday. There's always next year, right?
  Professional photos of the wee ones We had absolutely gorgeous photos taken by a local photographer two years ago. They were amazing. And last year sometime, they disappeared. I couldn't find the small album anywhere. I found it. It was in our wagon. I have no idea. None.
  

On the plus side? I found no dead mice. Living as near as we do to a conservancy (it's in our back yard), small creatures like to try to use our house as a home base. We discourage them - luckily cats tend to keep them out of our house proper. My husband has found two dead mice so far this year in the garage, both in different baseball gear bags of his. Every time I found a potential mouse hiding place, I brought it to him outside and had him search it. Phew. Nothing.

So what's the weirdest thing you've ever found when cleaning?

*This* Is Not My Child

Little Miss still naps. Yay! Most of the time, she actually sleeps, but there are times when I have to head upstairs during naptime to figure out what she's doing up there. I've yet to fully decipher the bangs and what the differnt kinds mean.

Yesterday, I was hearing noises that I was pretty sure meant Little Miss was jumping on her bed, which is a no-no in regular times (her bed isn't built to withstand that) and definitely verboten during naptime. I sighed and headed upstairs.

I found her laying atop her bed bouncing slightly, and whining.

Hey, Peanut, what's the problem with sleeping here?

I'm cold!

Well, of course you're cold. Climb back under your covers, silly girl.

And then the crying ensued. Seriously, this girl needs to pursue a career in drama. She has got the crocodile tears thing down pat. Ohhh the horrors of childhood in my house.

I finally got her calmed down enough to tell me what the problem is. But, Moooooooooooom, if I get under the covers, then the bed will get all messed up again!

Oh. Huh. Well, yeah, now that she mentions it, I notice that her bed is rather ... organized. Her blankets are folded, and I don't remember having done that in the past few days. Hmmm.

The truth finally comes out. Little Miss made her bed this morning, unbeknownst to me. When I put her down for her nap, I not only put her under her covers, but I also "ruined" the blankets by covering her with them. While I'd been downstairs, she'd remade her bed and refolded all the blankets. And rearranged all her stuffed animals.

Oh.

Well.

I'm not quite sure where this came from. My bed gets made on the days when I change my sheets, and that's it. I tried briefly to teach Mister Man to make his bed a couple years ago, but it didn't take, and I let it go. It just isn't that big a deal to me.

I'm pretty sure an alien is inhabiting my daughter's body. On the other hand, I'm not sure that this is an entirely bad thing.

In the end, we struck a bargain. She'd take her nap - under her covers - and I'd help her remake her bed after naptime.

I had to wake her up three hours later from a nice, sound sleep. And then she directed me in exactly what I had to do (while she helped) to fix her bed just the way it's supposed to be.



Weird, I know. How long do you suppose this stage lasts?

I Don't Even Really Need One, But Now I Have Two

There are definitely some things that put me on the fringe.

I took forever to get a cell phone. I remember working on consulting in the late 90s and going out to lunch with the guys on my team. All five of them would put their (identical) cell phones on the table when we got to lunch. There was a blank spot near me. And I was totally cool with it. I finally got one in maybe 2001 or 2002.

And now we have no landline and haven't for the last seven years. I'm funny that way. And umm no, I don't know how to text, and I have a phone that pretty much lets me call people. I will admit to beginning to lust after some of the cool phones with cool applications, but ... not yet.

When I graduated college and moved on my own, I purchased the usual staples of a new housekeeper. I had a vacuum, a kitchen table, a sofa, a bed, and the other usual odds and ends. But I had no microwave.

I cook. I like to cook. And at the time I had a tiny galley kitchen that had no spare counter space. Even after moving to places with larger kitchens - and yes, that became a criteria), I just didn't see the need for one. I don't like the texture of most reheated food, so I tend to eat leftovers cold. I don't eat microwave popcorn or microwaved ummm meals. Why bother?

Several years ago, a friend of mine offered to teach me how to make soap. I'd seen some of what she'd done with the cool colors and shapes and scents and such, and I was thrilled to learn. Can you tell that this was back when I was single and childless and had this thing I think is called free time?

As she was on her way (she fortunately lived very far away), she called to confirm that I had everything she needed to teach me to make soap. I did, and began to get out the measuring spoons, the liquid measuring cup, spatulae, and molds. I placed the newspaper on the kitchen table and set up drying racks.

Once she arrived, she unpacked the supplies she'd brought, broke apart the soap into the liquid measuring cup and walked into my kitchen. She walked around and around again. I watched her in silence.

"Ummm, where's your microwave, Michelle?" she asked.

"Uhhh, microwave?"

"Yeah, I need a microwave to melt the soap."

Apparently no, we couldn't just do it over the stove because she had no idea how to do that without ruining the soap. Soooo we packed up everything and headed to Target where I bought a microwave (the cheapest one I could find - this hobby was quickly becoming more expensive than I'd anticipated).

Once unpacked and plugged in, the microwave did its job melting the soap, and we got down to work. I learned how to know when the soap was melted, how and when to add dyes and scents, as well as the fun glitters and other powders available. We made soap to keep us clean for a year.

It was really easy, and we had a blast.

I debated returning my microwave after that, knowing that I could easily figure out how to do the soap on the stove, but I couldn't bring myself to return something that had been used, however briefly.

I haven't made soap since shortly after Mister Man was born, but I do still have most of the supplies needed, and someday I'll teach the wee ones. I see this as a great birthday party one day for Little Miss.

And that microwave? Well, it's down in the basement in the room that I will someday make my craft room waiting to melt some more soap. I can't quite bring myself to get rid of it.

That doesn't mean that we're completely without a microwave though. When we moved into our house, although the previous owners stripped all the cable and stereo wires from inside the walls (sadly, I'm not joking) they left behind a microwave that nicely matches the kitchen. It keeps great time on my kitchen counter now. Plus, it's a great shelf for those things that I just can't quite find a home for. With cabinets only a few inches above it, it hides the mess nicely.

Things That Make Me Go Hmmmm...

I'm exhausted, we have a blizzard forecast and I stupidly went out to a yoga class tonight in the snow. You get a really short one from me today!

Every week when I go to work (because I'm only in the office one day a week, after all!), I park in nearly the same spot. I suppose we all have our spots where we park. We have the same marker we use to remember, we walk past the same cars day after day, and we start to notice things that stand out.

Like one of the senior executives at my company. His car is parked just a few cars away from mine every morning. It's easy to tell whose car it is because he has a ... quite distinctive license plate.

Every morning, I walk past this red Cadillac with the distinctive license plate. Most mornings, I think nothing of it beyond noticing that it's there.

Then there are the days when it's snowed.

On those days, it's even easier to pick out than normal. It's the only car in the vicinity that is covered in snow.

Two things about that strike me as odd.

First, he's an executive. He makes wayyyyyyy more money than I do. He's also way older than I am, which means that he's been making way more money than me for way longer. So I just don't get it. Why does the man not have a garage to park his car in?

Second, the car is literally covered in snow. You can see just a little of the rear windshield and sometimes some of the side windows. The trunk is piled high with snow. The roof seems like it could cave in for all the thick white stuff piled atop it. Even that distinctive license plate isn't visible. How does he manage to drive all the way to work without the snow falling off his car? And (personal pet peeve) why doesn't he just quickly scrape the snow off?

Today, his car was piled high with snow. Because, you know, it snowed on Saturday. Two days ago. I'm still wrapping my mind around this one.